Denny’s

It occurred to me the other day as I reflected back on my year in Michigan and my first year of employment at the bike shop that a Denny’s bookends my short, varied professional career.

When I was just out of high school my first job was a deep-fry cook at Wendy’s—but not for long—I went on to bigger and better things as a waitress at Denny’s restaurant. It was down the street from my house and on the way to school. I stayed long enough to earn my 5 year pin.

I was terrible. Even now looking back, I ate way more than I should’ve from the cake case and consumed a lot of “mistakes.” Perhaps, it had to do with also moving out of my parent’s house and living on my own about half way through those 5 years. I don’t recall hardly ever grocery shopping. And, as opposed to my attitude now, I could care less about cleaning and sanitizing. I did the chore check-list grudgingly and didn’t look for additional projects. But, I did rake in a lot of money by today’s standards in tips.

Fast forward to forty years later and I now work at Denny’s Central Park Bicycles in Okemos, Michigan. It was a HUGE learning curve to learn the merchandise and specifically the Specialized bikes and accessories. As soon as I felt good about myself remembering to mention some aspect of this or that product, my boss reminded me I’d forgotten to mention thus and so, Even now, I’ll drill my co-worker who has been with Denny’s for more than 10 years—tell me again about the motors and battery on the Como and Vado. Explain to me why a 27.5 tire is also a 650B.

So essentially my work career, the part where you get a monthly or bi-weekly paycheck, the kind of place that has a boss, will have begun and ended with a Denny’s, a kind of cosmic synchronicity, with the bridge in between being the “job” of working with the poor and needy, being a missionary for no salary in Uptown, Chicago.